#not even going to bother reading the rest of it.

[dollyichi]

I JUST GOT A CRUSH! ᯓ★ katsuki bakugou x f ! reader. 1.02k words / fluff / not proofread

bakugou is bad at social media. not exactly terrible, yet not so great either.

he really doesn’t care too much for it nor does he use it that often but he’s not that unfamiliar with it. he finds himself being on tiktok from time to time though he never really bothered to make it known that he had an account in the first place, just enjoying whatever he comes across and liberally blocks accounts that come up on his fyp that pissed him off. he never posts anything either so it didn’t matter. it’s a typical account with a generated username and a blank profile, 57 following, 0 followers.

recently he found a video that he wanted to share (an edit made by a fan) and posts the link on twitter, alongside saying how ‘it’s real sick’ of them to make that for him. he didn’t even know videos like that were famous. the effort and skill it took made him think it were cool.

what he also didn’t know, was that his profile would be revealed when you press on the link.

he got so confused when his account suddenly gained so many followers in just two days since he ‘never mentioned it.’ that was until he sees the replies on his tweet that the linked he used to share got him exposed.

he checks it out for himself which proved that he did actually share his account without knowing, but it’s ‘whatever.’ even after everyone found out he just used it like normal. it’s only a pain when they kept asking him to post something.

he truly is without care, yet he underestimates the fans who immediately stalk his ‘almost’ empty profile. you see, he doesn’t know that his reposts are public because he doesn’t actually look at his own profile. it’s usually a like, like, repost, favorite, like, then close app routine that he does before he goes to bed.

there's a few funny videos here and there, cooking videos and recipes too, things he'd like to try out soon for himself, or techniques that were really helpful for him. some are also videos of fan edits that he recently discovered, where the same video he shared was at the top of the page.

yet, there was one reoccurring face that kept popping up. a pretty girl who likes to lip sync some songs or show off their trinket hauls. sometimes mini vlogs from their day to day or makeup vids. and the topic trends everywhere: DYNAMIGHT TIKTOK CRUSH

when you saw it you really couldn’t believe it yourself that the one anonymous commenter on your videos was a pro-hero, your favorite nonetheless. though, it makes you a little nervous since your face is plastered all over different social platforms because you’re only active on that app. you don’t know where to go from there except squeal into your pillows. definitely flattered when you recall the many times he called you pretty on your vlogs.

as the rest dive deeper into his little ‘crush’ they even saw him comment on a few of your videos with compliments that sounded extra flirty. they teased him so hard saying how he looks like a creep especially with that profile. he’s never gonna hear the end of it. soon a new topic blows up that reads: GO FOR IT DYNAMIGHT

in his defense, if he were to give anyone an explanation, he thinks you have a really nice smile and a really soothing voice. also that you’re real cute and charming, that’s why he could watch and even rewatch all your content in one sitting. he couldn’t get enough of you, absolutely smitten. even had to ask kirishima how to turn on notifications for an account in the guise of turning it on for his agency's tiktok.

you’re also the only account he’s following that’s not a cooking channel or a pro-hero. and yeah it’s basically all that, a crush. not that he expects you to actually give him a chance, he’s happy just seeing your content.

however, the poor (not really) bakugou is actually unaware of the whole situation of his ��tiktok crush’ trending since he was finishing a mission. only finding out when he got a call from kirishima asking if he found a girlfriend already. “what the fuck are you on about?”

“your fans are talking about how you keep reposting videos of this one girl on tiktok. i mean, it’s kinda obvious if you’re dating.” and it hits him, quick. your username (the one he could only remember, really) flashes in his head, but he laughs it off. “nah nothin’ like that. think i could shoot my shot though?” he asks him and kirishima says, “haha! i think she already beat you to it.”

not knowing what he meant, he swiftly gets home, showers, and lays on his couch whipping his phone out of his pocket to search up your username. and there he was, staring at his phone, unable to stop the smile on his face when he sees the thumbnail of your new video. he opens it immediately and there you were, holding a dynamight figurine (a very limited one too!) close to your cheek that you’ve never shown before until now. you never thought to show it thinking he might see it and think of you as weirdo. it gave the opposite effect actually, even made him more confident because who would've thought your pretty collection had a 'random guy' in there (definitely not random for you at least).

bakugou immediately likes, reposts and adds it to his favorites. even screen recording the whole thing cause you never gave access to download your videos—it was a very special moment for him okay!

he then comments, ‘you can have the real thing too.’

a few minutes later it’s got your icon with a heart beside it. he chuckles, happy that you finally noticed him. beams when he gets a notification that you followed him back.

he’s definitely going to dm you after he calms down. just hopes this time you don't beat him to it again.

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i love a katsuki with a crush i think it's so cute. but i love it even more that he's still confident about it!!! i like to think that reader probably has like 20k followers or something so pretty big but not as big as the others. the first time he met you he stumbles upon a video of you talking about the ice cream u just got and then he got hooked cause u were so cute when u were picking the flavor. PLEASE DO NOT SHARE THIS ON TIKTOK BTW >< also minors & ageless blogs please do not follow me!

[baltic-anchorite]

I generally don’t mind a discussion or even a dispute against a contradictory opinion. I’m assuming yours was contradictory because I never got past the first couple of lines. You talking about fingering your ass and then afterwards presumably you started talking out of it. With an opening sentence like that, I didn’t bother to read the rest of what you wrote, but it’s a safe assumption that was the direction your posturing took. So you might as well go back to fingering your ass. Just don’t go too hard or you might give yourself brain damage, due to the fact that you apparently have s::t for brains. However, that being said, good luck, take care, be well and Godspeed to you and yours. And yes, I actually really do mean that.

[harumasa-wifey]

➹Happy New Year»———>

✖Asaba Harumasa x Fem!Reader

Warnings: slight spoilers of chap 5(nothing major) Not proofread

Category: fluff

Note:i was inspired by the new official art and wrote this I was supposed to post it last night but I fell asleep while writing,Sorry for the wait.i cannot picture the accurate spot of this pic but I saw one in game I'll post a pic of it later for reference!

“Meet me behind the cafe in lumina square”

This was the last text you had received from him as you left Random play after meeting with the siblings to return the movie you had rented and wishing them a happy New year in advance.

It was New year's eve and thankfully to the deputy chief you all were out and about today. No fighting hollows , No overload paperwork and some extra which asaba adds to you sneakily because he is too lazy to do them.You love him a lot but you wish sometimes he would Stop adding his paperwork on your desk. It can be a great hassle to finish them in time.

Lumina square always makes every New Year a grand one and a beautiful one to look forward to. You made your way to the metro station hurriedly taking the last train of the hour to the lumina square after talking with Nicole and the others in the cunning hares. The metro was full of people like the elderly, the people with their family, the young highschool students and the couples.

The thought of how this year went passes through your mind. The whole incident with the vision cooperation and the chase in the hollow was stressful. Although it hasn't been completely disposed of, you all can rest easy for the holidays. It was thanks to all of the background support everyone made it safely in the end.

Your thoughts came to an end as the mic on the train announced its stop , you got off the train heading out the metro station into the bustling city of New Eridu. There were lights everywhere and it was more crowded than usual, but there was still one place left to visit before you went to meet him.

Meeting the person you love on new year's eve without a gift doesn't sound right to you so here you are.Standing outside the shop while having second thoughts on what to get him. You had made up your mind to feed him some delicious sweets that are being sold around this time of year even though he likes the bitterness now and is not bothered by it.Having something sweet every once a while would definitely not harm him.

As you look around and yellowish star keychain catches your eye with a little Clover inside. There was something that attracted you to it, so without thinking further you had made the purchase and had it warped in a box.

And your next stop was The cafe.

You had made your way over to the cafe with a little pubsec bangboo to help you cross the road. You re-read his message and made your way to the back of the cafe.

There he was standing while leaning against the palisade while holding a small wrapped box in his hand, his attention over to you as he heard your footsteps coming closer.

“Well look who finally decided to grace me with their presence.Took you long enough”

He spoke with a gentle smile on his face as you rushed over to him.

“I am sorry! I was at the Sixth street when I got your message”

He chuckled at her worries about being late.

“Calm down baby, I was just teasing. No need to rush i just got in myself”

You could hear the crowd hushed as the first firework arched into the velvety night sky as he extended his hand holding the gift box his yellow eyes shining in the lights whispering in a soft tone.

“Happy new year”

Your instinct told you to go and hug him so that's what you did, wrapping your arms around his neck particularly throwing yourself over him not to worry he will always there to catch you.

“Happy new year asaba,may we be together in the next one too”

“Don't worry I'll live long” He said locking his lips with yours into a kiss.

[dearggntlereader]

Nr.16 Huddled close ༻¨ : ·. ｡⋆⍋*｡

Mattheo Riddle x reader CW: none except for not proofread

The Astronomy Tower is quiet, only the quiet whistle of the cold wind accompanying your shared breaths. You and Mattheo sit huddled close on the cold stone floor, the faint sounds of the party still in your ear.

It was too much.

Too loud, too crowded. Too many faces and voices.

Too many people pulling you to dance or drink or laugh or talk with them.

“Bet they think we’re up here snogging,” Mattheo mutters, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. His breath is warm against your cheek, a stark contrast to the icy air biting at your exposed skin.

The dress you're wearing is flimsy and your jacket is much too light for the weather.

You roll your eyes but don’t pull away from him, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Let them think whatever they want. Better than dealing with them down there,” you mutter, voice low.

You’re freezing, but you’re scared to move closer. His arm is slung over your shoulders, pulling you loosely against his side. His hand, rough and calloused, is tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder.

He’s close but not close enough to help much with the biting cold.

“Cold?” he asks, his voice softer now as if he can read your thoughts. Like he knows how you feel about him and wants to spare your feelings.

Or maybe like he wants to make you feel warm and comforted because he cares about you.

“Freezing,” you admit, teeth chattering even as you try to stop them.

He huffs a laugh, voice unfairly attractive. “Guess I’ll have to do something about that.”

Before you can respond, he’s tugging you even closer, pulling the edges of his coat around both of you. It smells like him, smoke and something warm and woodsy. 

Usually you’d wrinkle your nose at the smell of smoke but something about this doesn’t bother you.

Maybe it’s the fact that the smell is just so him.

“Better?” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, resting your head against his shoulder in a moment of careless bravery. 

“Much.”

You turn to look at the sky, never quite dark at Hogwarts, ignoring the feel of his eyes on you until you can’t.

“You’re staring,” you tease, voice heavy with something deeper, the warmth of his closeness giving away space for hope.

“So?” he replies, his smile turning into another smirk before he takes a labored breath. “Maybe I like looking at you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away again, focusing instead on the glistening and twinkling stars above.

It’s quiet again, but it’s not the suffocating stillness of being alone or the uncomfortable silence after a bad joke. It’s the kind of quiet that wraps around you like a thick, warm blanket. The kind that leaves your head empty, calm instead of bustling with thoughts.

Mattheo shifts slightly, leaning his head on yours. “We can stay here as long as you want,” he murmurs.

“Even if we freeze to death?” you quip, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

He grins, his usual cockiness tempered by the gentleness in his gaze. “Might be worth it.”

The implications of that leave butterflies in your stomach.

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you as you snuggle closer to him.

Somewhere below, the party continues without you, but you don’t mind. You prefer it here, wrapped in Mattheo’s warmth, surrounded by the quiet of the moon and stars.

Thank you all for supporting my blog!! As always, I appreciate all comments and reblogs. It's what keeps me going.

Comment to be added to the taglist: @dustie-faerie

[queervegancryptid]

Seriously, academics and the like are flawed like the rest of us, so use critical thinking skills even when you're talking to an "expert" (obligatory disclaimer half because this is the internet and half because I majored in philosophy and am wont to quarrel about what exactly counts as an "expert" because my brain is wrong)

BUT

I promise that, in general, they will be very happy to talk about their work. Academics in particular, a lot of them I've known, don't get to pursue exactly what they want all the time. So when you engage with them on topics they actually have a background in, they sometimes forget how to act and infodump with the enthusiasm of your autistic friend who lights up talking about their special interests. All the ivory tower pretentious bullshit you sometimes have to cake onto yourself in that world, it can just crumble to dust with the force of their excitement about actually getting to talk about things that interest them rather than having to publish for publishing's sake or having to teach a course because someone in the department has to and it's their turn. (Seriously, I don't know if this is common knowledge, but that's actually how some departments run things: I taught the intro course last year, so it's so-and-so's turn next. See, for example, the dude who taught my intro to astronomy course. Lecture was a snoozefest. The planetarium and outdoor work? He was a different man. The final grades for the class had like a 40 point curve. It was kind of a mess. But it was cool when he actually wanted to be there.)

I used to say that was my favorite part of academia, but then I realized it's the main thing about that world that drew me in: I wanted a place where I would be expected and encouraged to explore in ways I wasn't allowed (or wasn't able, not having the resources and living in a small town) to do when I was a kid. It didn't work out the way I wanted it to, but that's a story for another post.

It's why I love libraries. There's a "bookmine" near me (I don't want to doxx myself naming it but DM me if you want and I'll elaborate) that I would fucking adore to roam for days and days. Or just nights. You know, sneak in and hide in this massive building full of books, wait for them to close and go home for the evening, and just go to town exploring various subjects. Also my partner would be there so we could gab to each other about our discoveries. I feel like a lot of people, academic types especially but not exclusively, can relate to this yearning to explore and share.

Don't feel like the only people worth talking to are folks with advanced degrees or prestigious titles, though. Academics can be easy to find relative to other kinds of experts, but good information can come from anybody. Not just somebody with an email address ending in edu. At the same time, beware of influencers and whatnot, obviously. Good information can come from anywhere, and the same is true of bad information. Someone saying things with a lot of confidence isn't necessarily telling you the truth and doesn't necessarily know what they're talking about.

Anyway. Send the email. I promise you're not bothering them by asking about the thing they literally got at least one advanced degree learning about on purpose (in the case of academics, but like I said, this can apply more broadly than that; read the room and shoot your shot, or whatever the kids are saying nowadays). I have a lot more to say about this and may even make a post to help people find experts in a given field of study and how to use responsible critical thinking skills and research methods more generally, especially if anybody expresses an interest in any of that. But I've babbled enough on somebody else's post lol I apologize and also it will happen again

Signed - your local autistic philosopher weirdo who just really really likes information and libraries and finding and exploring cool stuff and can't shut up about it sometimes

[knottedhearts]

The space between us: B.E

a/n: This is part three, the final. If your havent read one or two, go read! If you want ofc.

Enjoy!

The next morning, sunlight streams through the bedroom window, painting soft patterns across the bed. You’re still holding Billie, her head resting against your chest, her breathing steady and calm. Neither of you slept much, but the weight of last night’s fight feels lighter now—like a storm that’s left the air fresher, even if the damage still lingers.

Billie stirs first, her blue eyes fluttering open as she looks up at you. For a moment, it’s quiet, and then her gaze drops.

“I feel stupid,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

You brush your fingers through her dark brown hair, gently untangling knots from last night’s tears. “Don’t,” you reply softly. “You weren’t stupid. You were honest. And I needed to hear it.”

She closes her eyes, leaning into your touch. “I just—when I think about losing you, it makes me panic. Like I can’t breathe.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in her voice. “You’re not losing me, Billie,” you say, tilting her chin up so she has to look at you. “Ever.”

Her lips tremble, but she nods, letting herself believe you. “I know I overreacted. I should’ve trusted you.”

“And I should’ve been more careful with your feelings,” you counter. “I should’ve noticed how this was making you feel before it got to this point.”

She sighs, pulling back slightly, though her fingers still linger against yours. “So, what happens now?”

You sit up, leaning back against the headboard. “We talk more,” you say firmly. “No more bottling things up until they explode. If something’s bothering you—or me—we deal with it before it gets this bad again.”

Billie nods but looks down, picking at the edge of the blanket. “And Luke?”

You pause, choosing your words carefully. “Luke is my best friend, but you’re my girlfriend. If seeing him as much as I do makes you uncomfortable, we’ll find a balance—one that works for both of us. I’m not willing to lose you over this.”

She studies you, her blue eyes searching your face for any hesitation. When she finds none, she exhales softly and crawls closer, resting her head on your shoulder.

“I don’t want you to stop seeing him,” she admits. “I just want to feel like I’m enough. Like I’m the one you’d rather be with.”

You tilt her face toward yours and press a soft kiss to her lips. “You are enough. More than enough.”

She kisses you back, slow and tender, and when she pulls away, her eyes are clearer—like some of the weight she’s been carrying has finally lifted.

“Can we just stay here a little longer?” she asks quietly.

You smile, pulling her closer. “As long as you want.”

The two of you sink back into the pillows, the morning light warming the room. It’s not perfect—there are still cracks that need fixing, insecurities that need mending—but it’s a start. And as Billie’s fingers intertwine with yours, you know you’re both willing to fight for it.

[grimmweepers]

even before i started reading i was SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG at the content tags. it’s so up my alley and i knew i was going to love this. i wish i could idk take this all in and rub it all over my body and eat it hehe.

but courtney!!!! where has your writing been all my life!! i can’t believe this is your first time writing sukuna. you write him so amazingly and you have such an eloquent way of setting the scene and describing feelings that i just feel so immersed. it genuinely feels like i’m getting pulled away when i have to stop reading. and a whopping 8.3k words… you have spoiled me 🥹💖

i also really appreciate how you characterised reader (me… i can’t believe it!!!). every dialogue reader says just has me nodding and agreeing and cheering her on because i, too, would say those things. while i was reading i made a list of parts that made me unwell /pos because i tend to do that when i read and if you do not mind, it does involve screaming so be prepared !!!! :

They carry the weight of something unspoken a recognition of the four-letter word he is not yet ready to voice

“If I’m to entertain a mortal festivity it will not be done poorly.”

He walks to you, thunderous steps shaking the forest floor but doing little to shake you tucking and readjusting your furs once more before ushering you back to the estate

HE IS SO LOVING IN THE MOST SUBTLE AND SUKUNA-ESQUE WAYS IM SO GOOEY RN!!!!!!

i’ll just be including this entire thing because it’s so beautifully written and i still can’t believe it’s about me.

YOU ARE SO THOUGHTFUL AND I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW I ACKNOWLEDGE AND AM OBSESSED WITH THESE EASTER EGGS. love changes people and if this isn’t the most crystal clear form of proof….

the whole hansel and gretel scene made me giggle. his nodding of approval when they spoke about eating the kids and luring them in lmfaooo!!!! i’m crying KGVAJAHAAJABNWJWAHAN and i love the way you characterised his tummy mouth to be like a lil puppy. it almost makes it endearing, especially imagining it dusted with cookie crumbs and frosting hehe so silly

“This isn’t the Heian era, despite how much you like to talk about it.”

I LAUGHED OUT LOUD

“He trespasses into their domain and then defiles it. Disgusting.”

ANOTHER FAVE. he can sound like such a baby sometimes HAHAHAHHAHAAH poor ‘kuna getting hot and bothered by christmas

OH AND THE PART AT THE SOFA WHERE WE WHERE WE WHERE WE AHGQBAJFQBHANHABAJQHQBWNJQVABAJWHWVWBJWHWBWKJWBWNWKWJWBWNWKHWBWNWJWBWBWJWJBW WJWJWBWNWJWJWBW SKWKWJBWWKWK sigh that’s all i have to say about that

AND WAIT THERES MORE…. WITH HIS TUMMY TONGUE KISSING ME NOW HFFGABAJAJQHABAJAJBANAKAJABAJAKAJANP. that scene was so absolutely HOT. it’s only 12:30pm here but i just woke up and wow what a way to start the day. i never thought i’d say this but sukuna is so adorable trying to guess what i’m gifting him

OH MH GOD HE GIFTED ME PERFUMEEEEEEEEEE THAT HE CRAFTED HIMSELF AND IT SOUNDS SO PERFECT AND ETHEREAL I WISHED I HAD IT IN MY HANDS RIGHT THIS INSTANCE 😭😭😭 the blends the notes - i wish it were real. courtney this is the best!!!!!

“You see me,” he finally speaks, uncharacteristically hushed. You see him—demon and protector, destroyer and creator, ancient force and the being who has learned to nestle mortal joy in hands only meant for destruction

the sheer rawness in this paragraph. i’m in awe. i’m also hushed because the way you write makes me cry. you really explain him in the same way i view him :(

“And I see you, Ryu.”

AND WHAT IF I DIED WHAT THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM TEARING UP. THIS IS TERRIBLE. MY HEART IS JUMPING OUT OF MY CHEST

The naked feel of you against his torso pleases him, and beneath the prideful smirk against your mouth, beneath the snicker from his belly, you taste that four-letter word in his mouth, siphoning as much of it as you can before you pull away and rest your forehead against his.

A mortal who hates spiders, but loves Gothic architecture, monsters, and the many books that line his walls.

hehe what can i say… spiders scare me… monsters don’t … like sukuna

AHFDHFHFJJGBA AND THE END. thank you so so so so much for the gift. i can tell you really did your research and i am eternally grateful and will be keeping this close to my wee heart. i don’t talk about sukuna all that often anymore but he was my first ship and first comm ever EVER! so he will always remain special to me. and lately i’ve been feeling a little doubtful about that ship. only because i begin to wonder if our personalities would even mesh well which would inevitably lead to me getting insecure about sukuna becoming soft for me. but the fic - your gift - showed me that even after all these years, ryukuna can still work. that he can love me. and that i can love him while still being myself. i’m so sorry this is so rambly and long. i woke up with my heart a lil heavier today for unrelated reasons but this just made me feel 1999999616161881 times better. you have such a way with words that scratches an itch in my brain and i know i will be coming back to this when i miss sukuna or when i’m feeling sad. every time you referred to me as Queen i get a little giddy. because even without sukuna, that is the type of confidence i should have. that’s how i should see myself. i am a fiery woman by nature so it’s a huge affirmation seeing myself depicted this way. in fact reading this might give me the confidence to talk about him more and even write about him again. what a wonderful thing gifts can be :[

courtney thank you for your time and kindness and thoughtfulness and talent and all of the above ! may YOU have a merry christmas and may YOUR heart always be full <3 i am elated!! on cloud 9!!

Merry Christmas from my little corner at the @pixelcafe-network. Thank you so much for hosting this gift exchange! I had so much fun writing this for my elf @grimmweepers. Your Christmas list gave me the opportunity to write Sukuna for the first time. I wanted to lean as much into your likes as much as possible so that it feels like it's you in this story.

I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: True Form!Sukuna x Reader (Ryu)

Rating/CW: slight dark romance, fluff, implied sexual content, dark themes (references to violence, blood, destruction, and a hint of cannibalism because it's Sukuna). MDNI!

WC: ~8.5K

Summary: Sukuna gives in to mortal festivities, for the promise of a worthy gift, unaware that some traditions leave marks deeper than ancient power.

Divider: @cyberbeat @arminsumi @firefly-graphics

The winter night drapes itself across the ancient estate, stars scattered above like diamonds on black velvet. Fresh snow has transformed this formidable domain into something almost magical—though no amount of pristine white can truly soften the centuries of power that seems to pulse through every shadow of the grounds.

You used to take these walks alone, finding solace in the environment that gave way to the shifting change of the seasons. But now, on this chilly and almost silent night, your solitary footprints are accompanied by another. Deeper, more commanding treads belong to Sukuna, whose very presence seems to make the stars above burn brighter, as if they, too, acknowledge the power that moves beneath them, feeding off the cursed energy he emits with every breath.

Your exhale forms a frosty white cloud before vanishing into the night air. It’s cold, far too cold for a walk, but you’re out here to clear your thoughts, to quell the overwhelming urge to ask Sukuna a question that you don’t want to imagine the answer to.

The thought first emerged when fall gave way to winter, the autumn leaves replaced by the starkness of bare branches now hidden beneath blankets of snow. The thought of markets late at night adorned in yellow lights, of hot cocoa and gifts wrapped in red ribbon.

The words, having coiled behind your teeth for days like a spring, finally slink past your lips. “I was thinking…what if we celebrated Christmas together?”

“Christmas.” The word leaves his mouth not as a question, but as if it’s not worth inflection.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting your rolling anxiety. He’s never been one for new things. This is his domain, after all—his home, his formidable walls that he has erected and ruled with an iron fist. The mere thought of anyone—let alone a mortal—suggesting something outside his design is almost laughable.

You pause in your footsteps, tracing his looming shadow in the snow before you look up at him. He’s tall, looming with a height that comes not from this realm, his silhouette dwarfing everything around him. While you are covered in furs and wool and warmth, he stands in a simple black Haori, barely covering his skin and open to show his chest.

The dark markings of his tattoos glow like black embers in the moonlight, each one a testament to the ancient power that pulses beneath his skin. Two pairs of muscular arms fold across his chest, large and thrumming with strength. An archaic strength that can level cities and destroy with little effort, yet those same fearsome arms cradle you with unexpected gentleness in the depths of night.

The fact that you understand this side of Sukuna, gives you the strength to press on.

“It’ll be our first Christmas together,” you press.

“A mortal festivity,” he claps back, naturally sharp but with little heat.

“I’m a mortal,” you counter, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down from the menacing glare you can see right through. “And from what I remember, I am your Queen.”

Quadruple crimson eyes narrow from your truthful declaration, their glow cutting through the frost-laden air like embers in the snow. The two on the right gleam brighter against the rough texture of his half-petrified cheek, like jagged stone contrasting with smooth flesh on the other side. “You mistake indulgence for approval.”

You shrug, nonplussed, sniffing the chilly air up your runny nose. “Then indulge me. Mortals, like myself, put up Christmas trees, decorate their homes, bake treats, and watch movies.”

He hums, taking a step toward you. As he draws closer, the air shifts. While you have no cursed energy, you’ve come to know his intimately. It presses against your skin like an unseen force, electric and stifling, its movements mirroring the emotions he tries to smother. You’ve learned to read it like your favorite book, though it’s a story only you seem privy to, and you don’t intend to let him know.

“Indulge me?” you try again.

He remains unconvinced, his characteristic indifference plucking at your cold skin as you look up at him unflinching. It’s not like he denies you often. Sukuna, for as powerful as he is, gives to your many asks with a wave of his hand as if your happiness is unwarranted, even if his gaze flickers to you minutely for praise at haven catered to you.

Your confidence has only grown steadily, but that anxiety that curls around an ask still tastes sour. So you pull out another mental note card, a line you practiced in the mirror for days for this very moment.

“Gift-giving is also another tradition,” you sigh in faux nonchalance, pursing your dry lips as you try to ignore the flicker of curiosity you see on his face. The subtle tick of his jaw, the way one of his eyes tightens just so, the feel of his cursed energy pausing in its movements as if to hear you more clearly. “I know you’d never turn down any sort of offering. Especially from your Queen.”

Only seconds of anxious silence pass before that deep hum permeates the air, a gentle give. “You use that title often, Ryu.” You shrug again, biting the flesh of your cheek to suppress the victorious smile you can feel in your muscles. “Why must I wait for a specific day of the year to receive a gift? I can simply take what I want with little effort.”

His hubris knows no bounds. Neither does your perseverance.

“You put up with a few days of Christmas cheer, and I’ll make sure you get the best gift ever. Something wonderful and fitting for the King of Curses,” you promise, hoping to bring him home with your sales pitch. “But no griping.”

Sukuna scoffs, indignation heavy in the sound as he puffs white smoke into the air. “I do not gripe.” The look you throw him is unimpressed; one brow arched in a silent challenge that grants you a narrowed-eyed glare of concession in return. “Why do you assume you will get what you want?”

He reaches for you as he complains, and despite his sharp tone, you lean into the weight of his touch. You’ve come to know the language of his hands, each gesture a revelation of the complex nature he embodies. Like now, as he adjusts the furs draped around your shoulders—precious things hunted and skinned himself. His movements are deliberate, with hands impossibly gentle despite their proven capacity for destruction.

“Because you see me,” you whisper, the words soft but heavy with meaning. They carry the weight of something unspoken, a recognition of the four-letter word he is not yet ready to voice—your understanding of his care beneath his praise, his protection weaved into his possession.

A sales pitch now seems trivial, disrespectful even, in light of how the tone has shifted around you. Shame prickles at your skin, but it fades just as quickly, overwhelmed by the truth of your words. You do see him, even when he's being stubborn.

Sukuna’s answering hum to your question—to the anxious worry that started this conversation—reverberates through the air, an unspoken approval that settles in the space between you both.

Days later, the skies bloom with gentle hues of cotton candy—pale blue and pastel pink, slowly darkening as the sun peeks on the horizon. The dawn of winter greets you with its chilly embrace, its breath sharp and unrelenting, its touch frostbitten. You’re bleary-eyed as you shuffle over broken branches and moss-covered paths in the East forest.

The weight of your determination keeps you moving, even as your body protests, regretting your tenacity because why would Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, buy a tree when he can simply ‘get one from the backyard.’

“I like that one,” you offer, shakily pointing with a heavily gloved finger at a modest six-footer, its snow-laden branches slumping under the weight.

“If I’m to entertain a mortal festivity, it will not be done poorly.”

You’re far too cold to point out his first gripe of the day. His voice carries that familiar edge, but beneath it rests a note that only you can hear—the same careful attention he uses when observing the movements of his enemies, now turned to the expansive forest to the east of his estate.

You close your mouth around an exhale, your cheeks puffing like a fish in your own rendition of a pout as you follow him. The forest stretches silent and vast around you, a living extension of how far his power goes. Sukuna stops abruptly, still as stone as he surveys the trees with a menacing gaze. The dominance he exudes seems to make the air itself hold its breath. You’re simply a spectator—watching an apex predator stalk its prey—it would be a marvelous sight if you weren’t shaking like a leaf.

“This one,” he declares at last, voice carrying the familiarity of pride and authority as he looks up at a magnificent pine.

It’s uncharacteristically different in every way; a shadow brown trunk as thick as his waist, strong branches that house deep green needles, forming their own canopy over the other and covered in the white blanket of snow. Its towering height practically pierces the sky, a physical representation of how the being in front of you sees himself—ambivalent and all-seeing.

With a flick of two fingers, Sukuna’s Cleave technique slices cleanly through the thick trunk. The looming pine shivers, snow plopping from its arms in white globs before it slowly falls to the ground with a muffled thud. The wind that picks up from the disturbance tousles his pink hair, strands whipping against his marked face. One of Sukuna’s muscular arms grabs his prize and effortlessly hoists it onto his shoulder.

You can’t help but admire the broad expanse of his back. The curve and dip of muscle against black markings that shift with each movement, the skin warm to the touch despite how cold he makes himself seem.

The sight of him makes you think of his Christmas gift—your secret project—the fabric carefully chosen to embrace that strength with something just as enduring. You wonder if he will notice the details, the painstaking intricacy you’ve chosen just for him.

His gift is soon forgotten when his gaze falls on you, an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Carmine pools that invite you to step closer and gaze beneath its liquid, to see small slivers of vulnerability presented in the form of the pine on his shoulders. He’s waiting, expecting not praise for his strength, but praise for what he has provided. An offering.

You smile gently, genuinely, and without quivering despite the temperature. “I love it,” you compliment, watching as your words card over his offering like a caress that only fans the flames of his pride. His belly mouth curves into a smirk, chuffed in agreement with its host, white teeth glistening and ghostly breath puffing in steaming plumes.

He walks to you, thunderous steps shaking the forest floor but doing little to shake you, tucking and readjusting your furs once more before ushering you back to the estate, his unspoken need for you to get warm carving a smile onto your face.

In Sukuna’s vast estate, where shadows roam, and servants move with silent reverence, there is no room for joviality and merriment. He rules unflinchingly, with a face usually etched in disinterest and a heart that beats only in the throes of violence and battle. But since you’ve set foot in his domain that he keeps dark and teeming with fear, things have changed.

Now, the halls carry the scent of your vast perfume collection, a blend of smoky oud and earthy florals that linger in the air long after you pass. The servants, once bound by fear, now offer gentle smiles to the mortal who goes against the rules of this cursed realm.

Now, the shadows walk with you, satisfying your thirst for the paranormal as they follow you like a silent watchdog, a testament to the orders of their master—a being with four arms, four eyes, and a grudging acceptance of your presence.

Now, the mortal who carved her way into Sukuna’s domain with hardly a blink, the mortal who can see beneath his veneer of bleach-white bone and hardened blood…

Now… that mortal has decided to bring Christmas to these ancient halls.

Darkness now flickers with light. Pine garland decorates the windowsills in the expansive front room of Sukuna’s estate, its sharp scent striking through the air with every brush of your fingertips along its needles. The front room, what was once empty and meant only as a tunnel to another destination, is now lively from your touch.

A tall fireplace, its mantle wrapped in garlands of cypress and silk ribbons the color of deep red wine that reminds you of his eyes, casts a warm glow over goblet-red curtains that frame looming windows and fur-lined chairs that you curl into when you read your many books.

Sukuna has molded his domain to fit your silent requests. Your Christmas spirit that Sukuna continues to entertain if only for the promise of his reward, breathes life. His spoils—the cleaved pine—stands proudly by the fireplace, its branches wrapped in shining white lights and delicate ornaments.

Uraume was diligent, while unwilling to entertain anything pertaining to mortals, their loyalty outshines their disinterest when it comes to their Queen. Said loyalty shines in the snow that rests on each emerald branch, crystalline shimmers colored amber and orange from the roaring flames of the fireplace. Their technique ensures it will never melt, an ethereal touch of winter preserved.

You can’t help the warm smile that graces your features as you admire the transformed space. But it’s the scents wafting from the kitchen that draw you from your admiration. Cinnamon and nutmeg dance with something darker, a metallic tang that speaks to how well you’ve learned to blend your world with his.

Uraume, for as menacing as a curse user they are, has the cooking skills worthy of Michelin praise. The kitchen is their sacred domain but is now a battlefield of flour and spices, mortal and ancient alike. The heat from multiple ovens warms your bare toes, and copper pots and pans clank and steam with soluble renditions of a Christmas feast.

Sukuna’s dutiful servant moves about the kitchen with practiced ease, refusing help from the other cursed spirit-like servants in your presence no matter how many times you’ve insisted that you don’t mind.

“The consistency is correct,” Uraume observes, subtle praise in their soft tone as they nod toward the ruby liquid you’ve folded into dough. “Sukuna-sama will find it acceptable.”

You hide your smile at their careful choice of words. Months of coexistence have taught you to read the subtle ways in which Uraume expresses care—their meticulous attention to your recipes when cooking for you, your happiness from delicious meals enough to mask their fondness they will never admit to.

“We’re going to make gingerbread houses,” you exclaim an hour later to an indifferent Sukuna. His presence in the kitchen is rare, and you’ve had to ignore the peep of garbled eyes from cursed spirits who poke through the kitchen doors in disbelief before scuttling away in fear of being caught.

The counter is littered with cooled cutouts of gingerbread house walls, arches, and windows. White icing in pastry bags that will serve as glue and gumdrops to be adorned as paneling is the perfect setup for this small occasion between you both.

Despite Sukuna’s menacing demeanor, he is astute. It’s why he’s achieved the status he has now, why he’s feared among the world, both mortal plane and astral. So he wastes no time piecing together his own creation, his eyebrows creased in concentration fitting of a warrior planning a siege.

As Uraume flutters around you both, you recount the tale of Hansel and Gretel, Sukuna’s crimson eyes gleaming with interest at the more gruesome parts of the brothers Grimm.

“So this witch,” he muses, two hands delicately pipping white icing for a jagged wall, his other two hands covered in flour. “She devoured children who wandered into her domain.” His eyes twinkle with approval, his belly mouth curving into a devious smirk. “An acceptable response to trespassers.”

“She built the house to lure him in,” you add, swallowing a chuckle as you feel his cursed energy wiggle around you in interest. “That’s why it was made out of sweets.”

“Why did these children not become a proper meal?”

“They outsmarted her,” you explain, watching in muted supplication as his face drops from satisfaction to disapproval. “Pushed her into her own oven.”

His belly mouth scoffs, frowning as his thick tongue tastes the spiced air. “Mortals.”

As your special cookies perfume the air with metallic sweetness, you admire Sukuna as he works. He utilizes all four hands to guide his gingerbread creation to completion, clicking his teeth when a wall crumbles in his palms and humming in delight when the icing holds steady. Your gingerbread house lays half-created as you watch him, observing in silence until his masterpiece sits before you.

It’s a fortress—walls as imposing as a cathedral’s, windows designed to daze would-be escapees. The path to the door winds hypnotically, sugar-crystal steps that seem to pulse with cursed energy, leading young feet exactly where he wants them. The final touch? Miniature figurines made of pretzel sticks and marshmallows that are arranged at the front door like an offering.

“The witch’s failure was in her execution, not her concept,” he declares. Where normal gingerbread houses invite warmth, his promises something darker—a blend of Christmas tradition and Sukuna’s deadlier inclinations. “No child would think to check for a secondary barrier here.” He speaks as if defending a dissertation, pointing to the candy canes that could easily become weapons instead of the holiday cheer they should represent.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your chest, soft and genuine, as you admire his evil architecture. Four eyes find you immediately, piercing in their gaze as if defensive, yet still holding something akin to wanting your approval. Your hand finds his marked cheek, fingers tracing the tattoos that mirror all over his body. He leans into your touch with imperial indifference, wary of Uraume’s presence in the kitchen but not indignant enough to deny your warmth.

“A domain worth of the King of Curses,” you praise, watching how his belly mouth curves into the wide grin that his master does not offer. It’s more than enough to know he’s satisfied.

“And why is yours unfinished?” Sukuna asks, crossing his arms in mock reproach despite the splattering of flour on his skin and Haori. “Surely, my Queen will make something of equal likeness.”

The oven behind you dings before you can reply, and Uraume retrieves your treat, the aroma rich and spiced. You slide the steaming plate between you, the burgundy cookies still piping hot and ready for him.

“I had other priorities,” you supply, blowing on your fingers before you offer a cookie to his belly mouth. It opens wide, tongue lolling to the side like a panting dog and already watering before you place the cookie on his taste buds. He chomps loudly, sharp teeth devouring the concoction of ginger, blood, and aged spices from Uraume’s private garden—a perfect blend of your world and his. His cursed energy warms, wrapping around your waist in approval as Sukuna throws cookies into his own mouth now.

“Is this my gift?” is all he asks, satisfied but ever impatient as he and his stomach finish the plate. You don’t resist the eye roll. “It’s a very acceptable gift. However, I wouldn’t have entertained Christmas if you only wanted to cook.”

“It’s not your gift Sukuna.” You wave him off, snatching the now empty plate before his belly mouth’s tongue can lick at the blood crumbs, another heaping plate taking its place that Uraume leaves. “And don’t try to guess. You won’t get very far.”

“Hm.” He leans back slightly, one of his hands reaching to dust flour from his forearm. You roll your eyes again, choosing instead to finish your gingerbread house while he sulks. “Then it must be something more…significant. Ancient scrolls, perhaps? Found deep within forgotten temples, imbued with curses?” His voice drips with mock curiosity as if daring you to reveal even the slightest clue.

You snort, pausing mid-pipe to give him a flat look. “First of all, ancient scrolls? Really, Sukuna?” His belly mouth grumbles at being ignored, lips covered in a red dusting of cookie smacking for more. “Second of all, what would I be doing roaming around a temple? This isn’t the Heian era, despite how much you like to talk about it.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, more intrigued than annoyed by your commentary. “So I am wrong?”

“Completely,” you answer, biting back another laugh as you return to your task of piping green icing along a gingerbread wall to resemble bushels of grass. “Do you think your gift revolves around curses and destruction?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” he counters smoothly, his tone smug and his gaze unwavering.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the nth time in only so many minutes, feeling the warmth of his cursed energy curling around your waist again, tugging at you like a child pulling his mother’s sleeve for attention. “Just eat your cookies and stop guessing, Sukuna. You’re nowhere close.”

His belly mouth snickers as Sukuna throws another cookie into it, but his narrowed gaze lingers on you as if memorizing every shift in your expression, every subtle movement of your hands, waiting for you to slip. You have a feeling that even though Christmas is only days away, his curiosity will make it seem like an eternity.

As he often says, Sukuna indulges for you quite often. Trivial mortal instruments meant to stave off your boredom. He tells himself it’s for his own peace, to keep you from pestering him in the throne room, even though he still searches for you and longs for your presence in his lap.

One of those mortal instruments? A television. He knows what they are but has never been bothered to pay attention—an invention he dismissed as frivolous and mind-numbing. The flickering screen is often a source of laughter and comfort on one of your sleepless nights, and though he swore to never sit beside you while it played, here he is. On Christmas Eve. Reclined casually on the expansive sofa in your chambers, a disdainful sneer aimed at the annoying mortal known as ‘Buddy the Elf’, judgment radiating from his very being.

“Ryu, you cannot possibly enjoy this,” he huffs, one hand picking at nonexistent lint on his linen pants, another draped over the back of the couch, and one more cradling your soft form against him.

“Elf is a Christmas tradition!” You insist, handing a heaping hand of buttery popcorn to his belly mouth who accepts with a please grumble. Unlike Sukuna, who prefers a more…carnivorous diet, his belly mouth will eat almost anything it is fed. You chuckle softly, laying your head on his naked chest as you both watch Buddy decorate the department store into a winter wonderland. "I love it."

“He trespasses into their domain and then defiles it. Disgusting.”

“I thought you agreed not to grumble.”

“I never agreed.”

You hide your smile in the warmth of Sukuna’s side, breathing in the familiar aroma of burnt incense that clings to his skin, grounding and intoxicating. The movie plays on, you enjoying, while Sukuna analyzes each scene with the precision he’d use to raze a village. He won’t admit what he’s been reduced to—a powerful being indulging in idiotic entertainment to please the mortal lady of his estate. All for a gift that he cannot guess.

You trace idle patterns on his marked arm. Each touch makes his cursed energy flutter beneath your fingertips, electric kisses on your skin that he pretends not to notice. These are the moments you love most—when the fearsome King of Curses allows himself to simply…exist beside you, his pride softened by the peace you often bring.

“A weapon,” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through Buddy and Jovie’s shower singing.

You blink, craning your neck to look up at him. “What?”

He gestures expectantly to the room around him. “You’ve found a weapon worthy of my domain.”

You should have known the moment he stopped complaining about the movie that his attention had drifted. The fact that this is what he is thinking about makes warmth bloom in your chest. “Are you guessing?”

“I do not guess,” he insists, glowering at the television to avoid looking at you, his curiosity-tinged cursed energy betraying him. “I deduce.”

A weapon would be fitting for someone like him—his strength, his dominance, his endless hunger for power. But it’s a far cry from what he will get. You throw more popcorn into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at just how wrong he truly is.

He’s silent only for a moment before he adds. “Why must I wait until tomorrow, when you can simply tell me now?” His logic is, as usual, rooted in authority and impatience. You chew another handful of popcorn deliberately, ignoring him as you keep your eyes glued to the screen.

Not even five minutes pass before one of his large hands brushes against the nape of your neck. His fingers card through your hair, tugging the strands—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You know what he’s doing. His touch feels like a predator sneakily luring in prey. You know this game—this is Sukuna feigning boredom because he’s curious, using seduction to coax you when you’re being stubborn. It’s as effective as it is dangerous. But this time, you’re prepared.

“If you’re going to ignore the movie,” you trail off, your voice a mix of seductive challenge and amusement. You twist in his lap to straddle his waist, sliding your hands up his chest, tracing your fingers around his nipples in slow, deliberate circles. He does not react, at least not on his face. But you can feel the imperceptible jut of his hips, feel his cursed energy hum up your calves, and wrap around your body like a warm fog.

“I know of something else we can do.” You’re suggestive, voice dropping to the pits of your stomach as your lips brush along the sharp edge of his jaw. The shift in power is immediate, and exactly what you want. His hands tighten on your waist, head tilting slightly, giving you better access to lavish him with praise.

“Is that so?” His voice is pitched low, heady already. “Anything is better than this drivel.”

You roll your eyes as you fall back on the sofa, your body arching under his touch as he pulls you closer. Your hand slides lower, tracing the edge of his haori where it hangs loose against his skin.

“You’re impatient as usual,” you whisper, nipping lightly at his neck. “But you’ll wait this time. Won’t you?”

His eyes narrow as if in protest. But he doesn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, his hands roam your body, each touch firm and possessive. You grin against his skin, knowing you’ve managed to distract him…at least for now.

“A temple,” his voice rumbles through the darkness, shaking you from the deep edges of sleep. His massive form curves around you possessively, his warmth seeping into your skin. Both of you lie tangled in the aftermath of your earlier indulgences—the sofa, the wall, and, finally, the silk sheets of his bed. All bearing witness to his insatiable need for you.

“Mmm?” you mumble, still trying to pull yourself awake.

“Built in my honor,” he elaborates without repeating himself, shaking you again with a harshness that makes you yelp and throw a glare over your shoulder. He smirks to himself as if he’s finally solved the mystery. “That is my gift.”

You groan, burying your face in your pillow, but secretly relishing in the way he can’t seem to let this go. Rolling over halfway, you peek up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. The moonlight creates a shimmering backdrop, outlining his form with silver, blood-red eyes gleaming with determination. For someone who claims to have no interest in mortal traditions, he’s relentless about this one.

“You woke me up to guess….again,” you grumble, glaring at him through a half-open eye.

“I do not guess,” he starts, ready to repeat the same phrase from hours ago. “I simply—”

“Deduce, yes, I got that the first time.” You cut him off and surge up to give him a kiss, feeling his surprise for only seconds before he melts into your affection. “Go to sleep.”

“A secret text,” he murmurs against your lips, undeterred even as his arms pull you closer. “Written in blood.”

You grimace before answering with your lips on his again, your leg curling around a thick waist, ready to use the ammo from your arsenal just like a few hours ago. “Do I need to distract you again?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow.

The midnight air watches with bated breath as Sukuna rolls on top of you, his towering frame rousing the tingle between your legs.

“I know your method of distraction,” he whispers against the skin of your neck. His belly mouth kisses the skin of your inner thigh, licking its lips at the promise of what you might offer if you’re willing. “Considering you are no novice, one might think that you keep secrets from your King often.”

Your affronted laugh dissolves into a sigh as both stomach and Sukuna adorn your skin with wet kisses—one along the vein of your pelvis while the other works at the skin behind your ear. “O-one might think,” you manage, gasping as his mouth finds the pulse in your neck, “that my King is simply impatient for Christmas morning.”

“It is already past midnight,” he growls at the feel of your touch drifting lower, his cocks already throbbing and oozing precum. “Merry Christmas.”

“A proper Christmas morning!” you correct with a chortle, smacking his chest playfully. He hums noncommittally, the sound vibrating through you both, possessive and yet tender in a way that only you are privy to. “A few more hours. Let me wake up properly.”

With those final words, you promptly roll over, denying him any more sensual touch that could ignite the early morning. Sukuna, used to your defiance, simply grumbles at your withdrawal, choosing instead to press searing kisses along the naked skin of your back. They ignite the embers in your belly but are not persistent enough to tempt you further.

“A domain expansion,” he insists, inhaling the perfume at the dip of your spine, lips brushing the soft skin there.

“I can’t even do that.” Your voice is heavy, the dredges of sleep finally pulling at your consciousness.

“More blood cookies.”

You remain silent, using his solemn guesses as music to lull you back to sleep.

Sukuna can feel your presence even deep in sleep, his cursed energy wound tightly around you like a second skin, always attuned to your warmth, your breath, the way you shift beneath the covers. So when that connection shivers—when his energy touches only empty space—his crimson eyes snap open. Your side of the bed is still warm, a ghost of you lingering on his silk sheets.

He can still feel you in the estate, so he rises slowly, surveying his chamber. He takes in the transformation--the pine and silk ribbons that are around the mantle now present in his chambers, and the smell of cider and blood cookies that still wafts in the air around him. Resting along one wall is a beautiful vanity carved from marble with obsidian-lined mirrors and velvet surfaces adorned with your plethora of fragrances. The table near his window is littered with books, a speaker—another mortal instrument—rests quietly, no classical music that you enjoy playing.

His room—once untouchable, dark, and sacred—is now infused with you. It should feel like a violation, his personal sanctum defiled with the touch of a mortal. And yet.

His body is no longer cold in the halls because you thrive in warmth. His servants may bow in fear to him, but they smile at you. Shadows, once tools of terror, are now a source of protection and amusement, a manic gleam of fascination with the otherwordly preventing you from being fearful.

His emotions are still a mystery, but slowly unfurling like petals that have been sleeping for many winters. Anything besides strength and power, besides determination and tenacity are weak—should be weak. But you feel these emotions plenty, and to Ryomen Sukuna, you are far from weak.

The soft yellow lights from the pine tree spill against the floor, welcoming his bare feet as he enters the large living room that has come to life because of you and for you. He won’t admit it out loud, the pride that surges through his chest like a rushing wave when he looks at the tree. A pagan symbol meant to honor a god that is not himself, willingly brought into his domain by his own hand, a rare sight in his forest that only his eye could catch. He cleaved it. He carried it upon his shoulders. He cupped the approval in your eyes like water in a shallow pool in a drying desert, sacred and coveted.

His efforts have become yours, decorated in tinsel and ornaments, in obnoxiously bright lights and snow that will never melt. And you sit next to it, your silhouette glowing against the roaring fireplace, your gaze looking up at what he’s allowed you to have. You noticed his presence long ago, but you remain transfixed with the tree, a soft smile gracing your features as he draws closer.

“It is far too early,” he rumbles, his voice gentle but heavy in the silent Christmas air. “Come back to bed.”

You huff in reply, not bothering to offer words even as he sinks down next to you. His arms crossed over his chest, his legs folding in to sit with grace on the fur-covered floor. This close, he can smell another fragrance that you collect, a smoky Oud that coats your skin like a second skin.

It’s one of his favorites, yet another thing he will not admit, but you know. You know from the way he buries his face in your neck at night, his chambers shrouded in darkness beside the slanting of moonlight on his sheets, his cursed energy caressing your skin in appreciation.

“It’s a great tree, you know,” you sigh, wistfully. You hope to keep the tree up and lit long after Christmas passes. It’s a wonderful sight, a depiction of a past life before you became aware of the unknown, of curses and spirits, sorcery and realms besides Heaven and Hell. To see it now, in the domain of a powerful king, shining brightly as if the one who cut it down did not have four arms and eyes. “It’s strong…resilient.”

“Of course it is. Who do you take me for?” he snaps, tone not holding any heat as his sharp gaze looks at you from head to toe. He leans imperceptibly into you when you laugh, a sound that shakes from your robe-covered chest and into the warm air, the shadows catching it as if they are fireflies in the night.

You finally pull your gaze from the tree, looking to Sukuna and he refuses to let you hear the hitch in his breath. He refuses to tighten his jaw or let you hear the click of bone as he fights the urge to openly bask in your gaze. “I have something for you.”

You grab a box beneath the tree, the only object that decorates the skirt. You’re climbing into his large lap before he can protest, willingly invading his space without fear of the consequences. For others, a swift death. For you, a subconscious shift in his form, one of his arms falling behind you and hitching along your hip to steady you on his thigh.

“I hope you like it,” you muse, shrugging with indifference to shield your anticipation. “I know "human sentiments" are not your specialty.”

The hands not holding your back trace along the red ribbon, silky soft and tied neatly by you. But before you can push the box more insistently into his hold, his hands slide under yours, firmly stilling your movements.

One of his hands reaches behind his back, his form shifting closer before he presents you with his own box. It’s smaller than yours, crafted in dark, polished wood, the flames from the fireplace glimmering along the surface.

“How can I let you meddle and not have anything to counter it with?” It’s all Sukuna offers, tone low and edged with something warmer than usual. He places the box in your hands, his gaze heavy on your face as though waiting for a reaction. Truly, the thought of him getting you something had not crossed your mind. Sukuna seemed more than willing to put up with your holiday antics if only to get something in return. So the weight of the box in your hands, cool against your palm, feels substantial.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid, the dark wood creaking softly. Nestled inside a bed of rich blue velvet, is something that steals the breath from your lungs. It gleams against the firelight as you pick it up, its crystal surface refracting shards of gold and crimson that dance across your body. The shape is elegant yet otherworldly, the surface etched with markings that you’ve come to see throughout his estate. A stopper made of black Onyx crowns it, carved into a teardrop that you pinch and pull to open.

The scent curls into the air, smoothing beneath your nostrils in a delicate yet commanding embrace. It’s sharp at first, with notes of what you recognize as juniper and lemon, fresh and crisp like the frost that curls on the windows in your chamber. You’re an expert in fragrance, so it doesn’t take you long to detect the undercurrent of bergamot and pepper, adding an edge that’s reminiscent of Sukuna’s power—lurking beneath the surface.

It seems as if the notes are never-ending. Pine needles and incense weave into a rich, earthy warmth, like the forest you both walked through to cut down the decorated pine that rests behind you. Amber and balsam provide a sweetness that lingers with its base notes and a touch of vanilla. Finally, the richness of cinnamon adds a spicy conclusion, as if kissing your skin before it fades into the morning air.

“You didn’t,” you begin, mouth suddenly dry, your eyes quite the opposite. “You made this…?”

“Do you think anyone else could, Ryu?” he counters, his tone holding a rare softness that you wish you were more levelheaded to preserve forever. A hand not resting on your back drifts along your shoulder blades, caressing in a mixture of observance and reverence. “It is yours.”

Like everything else in this domain.

That is what he wants to add. Is what curls at the tip of his tongue. But he uses your fluttering eyelashes to distract that urge that throbs in his chest. Uses the sight of you resting the perfume carefully back in its velvet encasing before closing the wooden box as if it might break.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally whisper, uncaring of how shaky you sound. The gift is uniquely Sukuna, deeply reflecting his essence but still having you in mind. “Thank you.”

He offers that characteristic hum, rumbling through your body and clenching around your heart with a force he’s not yet ready to acknowledge. His belly mouth curves into a smug grin, but his eyes are still on you as if searching for something.

“Another example of my indulgence that you mistake for generosity.”

The way his cursed energy hums around you, warm and protective, tells you otherwise. And it only serves to make you laugh, finally wiping the tears from your cheeks and gently setting the wooden box on the fur rug beneath you both.

“Uh huh,” you tease, snickering at his frown you can see right through. You finally pick up your box, the surface warmed by the fire, now resting in his hands. The teasing air around you both falls to the wayside, hushed anticipation taking its place.

He’s spent days pestering you about what he would get, and now, with you on his lap and his massive hands cradling the box with unexpected gentleness, his curiosity morphs into something else. A prize he’s excited to have and now afraid to open. Not in fear—Sukuna has no room for fear—but in anticipation.

It takes everything in you not to snatch the box and open it yourself, but eventually, he does, and the purse of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes fall before you like a book as old as time finally opening.

The silk is as dark as the shadows that roam these halls, shimmering like oil in water as it slides along Sukuna’s thick fingers. To anyone else, the material would simply be silk. But to Sukuna, he can feel the cursed energy that pulses along it, no doubt stitched together with a cursed thread strong enough to embrace him and yet still soft to the touch.

You had no way to conjure or control cursed energy to weave into the fabric, so you had to turn to Uraume for help. Their frosty hands had guided yours, harnessing the cursed energy necessary for you as you wove the threads, ensuring the haori could hold the weight of Sukuna’s power while remaining as delicate as the intentions behind it.

The silk mirrors the intricate markings on his skin, its edges dyed in gradients of shadow and blood.

“It’s a Haori,” you finally speak, soft and given space so he can observe his gift without hurry. “It’s all you really wear, so I thought crafting something of my own would be….nice.”

Words gather on his tongue, and then scatter like leaves in a storm, too feeble to express the weight of what he feels. He knows that a simple hum of approval won’t be enough—not this time. Not for you. But as he readies himself to speak, opening his mouth just so, his breath catches when he looks inside one of the sleeves.

The inner lining is adorned with ancient symbols sewn in patterns only he would recognize, the same ones you’ve felt him trace in the air around you when he thinks you’re sleeping, offering protection for when he cannot be near you. They shimmer faintly, their glow deepening in the shadowed folds of silk and fading when touched by light—a testament to the darkness he commands and the solace he finds within it.

“Ryu—”

“At least put it on,” you interrupt, voice slightly shaky and betraying your exposed nerves. You hold the garment delicately, taking it from him and helping each arm through the sleeves. The silk moves like smoke around his massive form, designed to accommodate while maintaining the elegant lines that befit a being of his stature. Your eyes are on his skin, focused on the hem of his lapels as you trace over it and rest your hand on his chest.

“There,” you whisper, smiling but not looking up at him. His heart is steady beneath your palm, not fluttering like a bird in a cage, and you’re not sure whether to be upset that your gift doesn’t make his heart race. “It looks good on you.”

It fits him perfectly and thrums with a warmth that echoes the temperature blooming in his chest. That three-letter phrase—that elusive word that’s made his lip curl in disgust since the beginning of time, now pounds in his ears from the garment that sits on his skin.

It’s not just a garment—it’s an acknowledgment of who he is in his truest form, a declaration that you see his beauty in both his power and his evolution. The way it drapes over his marked skin, how it seems to pulse with its own life in response to his cursed energy—these details speak to your understanding of him, how you’ve learned to…love both the demon and the subtle changes your presence has wrought in him.

“You see me,” he finally speaks, uncharacteristically hushed. You see him—demon and protector, destroyer and creator, ancient force and the being who has learned to nestle mortal joy in hands only meant for destruction.

They’ve always been directed at you. Not from him. He’s never said them before. He’s never really known how, and part of him has always been envious of how the words can fall so effortlessly from your lips.

He’s never said them before. And yet now, at this moment, it feels like if he doesn’t act, the opportunity will be lost forever, forced down into the pit of his belly for who knows how long.

You hold your breath when you feel one of his hands cradle your cheek, massive enough so that his fingers card through your dark hair.

“And I see you, Ryu.”

The words feel like a promise. Like they will probably be rare but will only hold more and more weight as time goes by. And that’s okay for you. To be in his presence. To open him up and show him that he is capable of something gentle enough to hold you. That’s your gift that you will never need to wait until the 25th of December for.

His belly mouth is unusually silent, but his cursed energy tightens around you like a caress. Warm and vibrating, a protective weight that will remain around you for as long as you breathe. It speaks volumes that his pride won’t quite let him voice.

You lift a hand to rest on his cheek, tracing along the smooth skin that gives way to the rough texture that wraps around his right side. His two eyes on this side are more narrowed, encapsulated in the hard surface around it but still oozing dominance that could make others cower and definitely not come closer like you do. You cup his jaw before finally meeting his gaze—soft meeting a harshness that will never affect you, love meeting the beginnings of the same that linger beneath crimson pools.

“I see you too, Ryomen.”

The sound of his name makes his chest tighten, the organ behind his sternum pounding irregularly for only a second before falling back in line. His given name is forbidden for any who wish to speak it in likeness—he will only tolerate the name ‘Ryomen’ if it is wrapped in fear, or if it falls from your lips.

The silence lingers for what feels like forever, his hands holding you on his lap while he lets you map his face. Your heart flutters, happiness pulsing through your veins with every beat, cataloging every aspect of this moment in your mind forever.

“There is one mortal tradition,” he finally muses, his voice carrying that particular note of mischief that always makes your breath catch, “that I find…acceptable.”

It’s the kind of tone that usually follows lips along your skin and hands between your thighs, reminiscent of a man who can only bask in vulnerability for moments before shifting to something heady and tinged with lust.

Before you can question his motives, one of his hands lifts to hover above you both. His cursed energy manifests between his fingers, dark and potent, morphing itself into something that makes you snort in delighted surprise. Dark tendrils grow slowly from the mass of energy between his fingers, twisted and mangled to form branches, its leaves pitch black with berries that gleam like drops of blood.

A twisted version of mistletoe, the only representation that would be acceptable to someone like Sukuna.

“Of course, you’d make it look menacing,” you tease, giggling softly as his other arms draw you closer to his chest. His belly mouth snickers from below you, ready to join his host in whatever is planned. One of your fingers traces the metal of his gauges, your eyes narrowing in playful indifference.

“Then I advise you to have one ready for next year.”

Your heart stops, lungs seizing in your chest as the words tunnel into one ear and out the other. Next year. The idea hangs in the air, fragile and precious—proof that even Ryomen Sukuna, with all his arrogance and dominance, is willing to entertain a future with you.

The mistletoe pulses above you, casting reddish shadows across your faces, and you don’t need to think any longer as you lean in to slide your lips along his. His hands widen the expanse of your back, your robe slipping off your shoulders to hang in the crevice of your elbows, the heat from the pulsing mistletoe spreading over your chest. The naked feel of you against his torso pleases him, and beneath the prideful smirk against your mouth, beneath the snicker from his belly, you taste that four-letter word in his mouth, siphoning as much of it as you can before you pull away and rest your forehead against his.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper against his lips, your body warming even further despite the heat from the fireplace.

He offers that hum—that characteristic hum that means so much.

Acquiescence.

Agreement.

I see you.

The mistletoe falls to the floor, crunching beneath your weight as Sukuna lays you on the fur, hands tracing your waist, sliding along your spine, hiking your legs around him. He doesn’t speak, content to admire you beneath him—a mortal without cursed energy who loves perfume, the paranormal, and classical music. A mortal who hates spiders, but loves Gothic architecture, monsters, and the many books that line his walls.

A mortal who has crawled beneath his skin and nestled there, unwilling to leave. And he’s too ashamed to admit that he gave up trying to pry you from inside of him a long time ago.

You throw your arms around his neck, impatient and tired of his staring, carding your fingers through deceptively soft pink hair to pull him down so that you can once again honor this particular tradition—one that, like everything else between you, has been transformed into something uniquely yours.

Merry Christmas, @grimmweepers !!!!

[l0stglitch]

Omg ik we just got completely broken in the last request but imagine the one day we’re walking around the boardwalk and we see this helpless kitty so we try and help it ofc you forgot to tell your dad so there pissed but they kidnapped you when you were a helpless kitty in there eyes so why can’t you do the same?? sorry if this doesn’t make sense and for bad spelling :,/

History repeats itself

Platonic Yandere lost boys x reader

Notes- Sorry I know this isn’t exactly what you asked but I thought your request would tie perfectly into a part 2 of the last fic/hcs.

Warnings- Depression, Mental illness, Angst(?), Yandere behaviour, Dissociation

Part 1

It had been five weeks since your cruel punishment had ended, and nothing had improved.

David watched you from his wheelchair throne, not even bothering to hide his concern. Marko was sat to your right, an arm slung round your shoulder as he quietly read to you.

It was a quiet evening in the middle of October. You used to love Halloween, but this year David wasn’t even sure you were aware of the approaching holiday.

He so desperately wished you would snap out of this strange state of mind. Even if just to scream at him and call him an awful father- anything was better than this. It was like someone had stolen every part of your mind linked to you and replaced it with a numb, complacent animal.

“Y/n you haven’t left the cave in a while, sweetheart. Why don’t we go to that diner you like in town?”

Your eyes slowly tore themselves from the page and met with David’s. It broke his heart to see how empty they looked. “Ok.”

Marko frowned, “You used to love that place, pumpkin. Not feeling up to burgers tonight?”

Your only response was a small shrug as you shifted your attention back to the book resting in his right hand.

Your two fathers exchanged a worried glance. Marko squeezed your shoulder sympathetically before continuing to read.

David sighed and stood up, “I’ll go let the others know.”

You hadn’t realised in your state of depression, but things had grown tense between your fathers. Dwayne in particular had become noticeably colder towards David.

Said man was cleaning your room for you. A somewhat futile attempt at trying to win you over, David assumed. Either that or he was trying to distract himself from the distressing reality of the situation.

David leant against your doorframe, watching as Dwayne carefully folded your freshly washed clothes.

“You just gonna pretend I’m not here?”

Dwayne finally looked up from his task, “Wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk or just watch me folding our daughter’s clothes.”

David narrowed his eyes at the man before him, but decided not to argue, “We were gonna take the kid to that burger place if you guys wanted to join.” He glanced over at Paul, who was sprawled across your couch with a cigarette.

Dwayne glared back at David, “The kid has a name, David. It’s Y/n.”

He huffed, “Are you coming or not man?”

“Of course I’m coming. She’s my daughter as much as she is yours.” Dwayne shot back, grabbing his leather jacket before striding out the room to go find you.

Paul stood up as well, shooting David a wary glance before brushing past him in pursuit of Dwayne.

David sighed in frustration before following his two partners out the room.

He returned to find Marko helping you into your jacket. You stared off into space passively, allowing him to guide you arms into the sleeves.

David frowned at the sight. You would’ve never let him do that before.

Dwayne cleared his throat, “I’ll take her over to the bikes.” Marko glanced up at him before looking back at you.

“You wanna ride with Dwayne, baby?” His tone was uncharacteristically gentle, as if he was trying not to spook you.

Your only response was a shrug, which he took as a yes, allowing the other man to take your hand and lead you out the cave.

David watched you leave before turning to Marko. “She spoken to you yet?”

The shorter man shrugged uncomfortably, “Not really. She’s like a zombie.”

“Hey man- she’s still our daughter,” Paul interjected with an offended frown.

Marko raised his hands in defense, “I know! That kid means the fucking world to me, but I’m not gonna sit here and pretend something isn’t wrong.”

Paul just scowled at him before turning around and leaving to join you and Dwayne outside.

“Well this is fucking fantastic. Now they’re both pissed off.” David grumbled under his breath.

Marko ignored the statement, “You think she’ll get better?”

David hummed, “She’s a strong kid.”

He frowned at the half answer, “I guess so.”

“Cmon. The others are waiting for us out there.”

Marko didn’t reply as he grabbed the keys to his bike and lead the way out, trying to hide his concern about your deteriorating state.

They hadn’t even left and things had already become tense. This was going to be a long night.

By the time David reached the others, Dwayne had already gotten you sat on the back of his bike, arms wrapped half heartedly around his midsection.

“She ready to go?” David asked, catching Dwayne’s eye.

The other man simply revved his engine and turned his attention over to the space ahead.

David rolled his eyes and mounted his own ride, growing tired of Dwayne’s attitude. Had it been Marko or Paul, he would have already put a stop to it, but Dwayne wasn’t as easy to order around.

Being the oldest meant that whilst he wasn’t as hotheaded and rash as the others, he did stand his ground in arguments. They didn’t occur often, but when they did it affected the whole pack.

Dwayne didn’t wait for David to adjust himself. His bike raced ahead without warning, leaving the others to catch up.

~

Despite the borderline overwhelming smell of greasy junk food, you couldn’t muster enough energy to eat the meal before you.

A delicate voice in the back of your mind reminded you of your need for food, but no pangs of hunger could overpower the numbness you had felt since David had chained you to the wall.

Dwayne rubbed your knee from under the table and leant in closer so you could hear him properly, “I know you don’t feel hungry baby, but you gotta eat some of it.”

You remained silent, focusing your attention on the bubbles fizzing in your coke.

“How about you try some of the fries?”

Still, no response came from your mouth. All thoughts withered away before your mind was able to comprehend any intelligent idea about the external world around you. You didn’t know if you wanted the fries or not. They tasted good- you knew that, but the taste of what you were eating seemed so much more trivial now.

What was the point in making the effort? They wouldn’t last long anyway. You’d be better off just giving them away to the scrappy kids lingering around the car park.

Dwayne sighed beside you. “Do you know how much it hurts seeing you like this princess? Please just eat the fries for me, Y/n. I don’t wanna lose my baby girl.”

You looked up from the coke and accidentally locked eyes with David. He was watching you with an expectant stare, his icy blue eyes boring into yours.

Normally you would’ve squirmed under the attention, but it no longer affected you the way it used to. “I’m not hungry,” You replied, voice raspy and quiet. It didn’t matter what volume you spoke at- they’d be able to hear every word even if you had whispered.

David sighed, “You haven’t eaten since yesterday. We’re not leaving this diner till you finish those fries.” You shifted your gaze back to your plate as he spoke, “You can’t force me to eat.”

Marko glanced over at you from his seat beside David, “Wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you.” Dwayne sharply kicked him under the table, eliciting a hiss of pain. You didn’t react. They definitely could force you to eat if it came down to it, but you knew that all four of them were still walking on eggshells around you. It wouldn’t be worth the risk. Dwayne shot Marko a stern glare before speaking to you, “We’re not gonna force you to do anything baby. If you don’t want the fries that’s ok. We could go get you something else if you want?”

You continued staring meekly down at your full plate of food. This one sided conversation had began to tire you, and you didn’t see the point in answering Dwayne’s constant questions. In the end it didn’t matter- if you didn’t make a decision then they’d make one for you. You were happy to just let them take the reins, allowing you to fall into a state of dissociation.

David made a clicking sound with his tongue and locked eyes with Dwayne, “Can I have a word?”

The brunette hesitated, shooting you another concerned glance before standing up from his chair and moving out of earshot. David was quick to follow.

Dwayne frowned as he walked over, “What do you want, David?”

The man shoved his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his trench coat, “We can’t keep tiptoeing round her like this man.”

“Well what do you suggest?” Dwayne snapped back, “We tried things your way, and look where it fucking got us. Our daughter is practically unresponsive and showing no signs of improvement. All this because you thought that she needed to be isolated for two months.”

David scoffed, “Yeah, well we all know that your ‘gentle parenting’ act is not only complete bullshit, but also fucking ineffective. As for Marko, you think breaking her legs would’ve been any better than this?”

At the mention of his name, Marko glanced up from the food in front of him. Both he and Paul had heard the whole of their argument, but neither had wanted to get involved.

Dwayne shoved David back, his eyes flashing gold momentarily. “This is your fault David! Look what you’ve done- she’s broken.”

David gritted his teeth, suddenly aware of the attention they had gained from the other customers. He lowered his voice and took a step closer to Dwayne, “I can fix this. You don’t.. understand her mind the way I do.”

He glared back at David, “I’ve walked her dreams countless times. I think I know our daughter’s mind well enough.”

The other man just shook his head, almost condescendingly, “No.. not like that. You just don’t get it- you never will. It’s not something that can be learned. It’s instinct.”

“Well your ‘instincts’ to have her chained to a wall for two months seemed a little off.”

David opened his mouth to argue back, but was cut off before he had a chance to speak. “She’s not eating anything guys. We should just, like, take her to the beach or something. Perhaps she needs a little fresh air…” Paul suggested, trying to focus their attention on something else.

David paused, caught off guard by the interruption. Apparently Dwayne hadn’t seen Paul approaching either, because he stayed silent too.

“Yeah I think Paul’s got a point,” Marko added, standing up and nodding towards the other man. He rounded the table and pulled you to your feet, wrapping an arm round your shoulders possessively. “Should we go?” He asked pointedly, his voice bordering on threatening.

David nodded and Dwayne took a step forward as if he wanted to pull you out of Marko’s hold, but then stopped himself and hummed in agreement.

You stared at the grime on the floor- it sort of reminded you of the cave. The hand that rested on your shoulder gave it a squeeze before you were guided outside the diner. Nothing felt real. The voices around you sounded different, and your body felt alien to you. Perhaps you would see a stranger if you looked into a mirror. Perhaps not. Did it even matter anymore? This wasn’t your life. This wasn’t happening.

“She’s completely out of it man,” Paul murmured to Dwayne, eyeing you as they walked towards the bikes. “Our baby’s in there somewhere… she’s gotta be.” Dwayne replied, trying to keep the doubt out of his own voice.

Marko turned around to address the others, “I’m gonna take Y/n on my bike.” Despite him usually being the most reckless driver, nobody argued back. Paul hummed before speaking up, “So we’re still going to the beach, right?” His eyes darted between each of his lovers, searching for confirmation. David nodded in response, “Yeah, unless anyone else has a better idea?”

“Nah man, the beach is fine,” Marko replied as they finally reached the bikes. Mounting his ride, your father turned to help you up, only to find you had disappeared from your previous spot.

He frantically twisted around, “Where the fuck-”

Paul’s barking laugh cut him off, “Chill out dude, she’s right there!” If Marko hadn’t been dead, he was sure his heart would’ve been pounding from within his chest.

“What the hell is she doing?”

That question was a little harder to answer. Whilst your fathers had been talking, you’d found yourself drawn to a small black cat huddled against a nearby fence. The poor thing was shivering against the October wind, its scrappy black fur doing little to protect itself from the weather.

For the first time in months you felt something other than empty detachment. You couldn’t describe the emotion- it felt strange and alien to you, but there was no denying it was there.

This tiny, helpless creature seemed akin to you in every way. Those lost eyes, constantly searching for a meaning, bore into yours with an eery familiarity.

You found yourself unconsciously reaching towards the cat, offering a trembling hand. The frightened animal hesitated before your crouched form. Your voice was hoarse and quiet when you spoke to it, “It’s ok. I can keep you safe.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you had subconsciously projected all of your repressed trauma onto this cat. A sudden overwhelming desire to protect and nurture filled you. Instinctively, you picked up the kitten and brought her close to your chest, stroking her soft fur before turning around and staring up at the four men behind you.

Your fathers watched in startled silence as you turned to look at them. Your eyes held more emotion than they had seen in months, and you held each of their gazes with a resolved stare. It was obvious you weren’t going to let go of the cat, David noted, glancing down at the black scrap of fur.

Marko cautiously took a step closer, crouching down to your level. “Hey sweetie.. who’s this?” He asked softly, motioning towards to animal.

For a moment, you stayed silent. How were you going to explain to them that this cat was you? Perhaps not physically, but you were convinced that spiritually you two were the same.

After earning no response, Marko tried again. “Does she have a name?” You nodded slowly, “It’s pumpkin.”

Marko frowned, “But that’s my name for you. Maybe we should call her something else?” You shook your head, “Her name is pumpkin.”

Your father sighed. The name sort of made sense- considering the fact that the cat had remarkably bright orange eyes. It irked him a little though that you had given his pet name for you to a mere animal you had found on the street.

“She’s cold; I need to take her home.” Marko watched as you abruptly stood up and carried Pumpkin back over to the bikes. This sudden change in demeanour was perplexing, but not entirely unwelcome.

You stopped in front of Dwayne, tilting your head expectantly at him. He shifted uncomfortably, “Why don’t you ride with Marko, baby? He’s good with animals.”

Paul sniggered behind him, “You’re not scared, are ya bud?” Dwayne rolled his eyes, “Just don’t want it scratchin’ up my jacket.”

You ignored their banter, bringing Pumpkin over to Marko so that he’d be able to help you up onto his bike. “You sure you wanna keep her?” He asked you quietly, glancing down at the kitten in your arms.

You nodded certainly, eyes sparkling dangerously under the streetlight, entranced by an obsession they recognised all too well.

“She’s mind now. She’s staying with me.”

Tag list- @bella-goths-wife @purple-lemon-8 @xjesterxjacksx @whatispopping69 @simplyreading96 @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic @humbuginmybones

I guess this is my Christmas present to you guys! Sorry it took me so long to post. 😅

[hannahbarberra162]

Opposites of Attraction (Kid x Reader, Enemies to Lovers)

No gods no masters only 1 million WIPs

A huge huge thanks to @nocturnalrorobin and @limitlesstildil for beta-ing this during the holidays for my needy ass.

18+ MDNI on Ao3

Kid POV

Walking around town on some shithole island he’d already forgotten the name of, Kid felt a strong pull towards the local dive bar. He and Killer had been going in that direction anyway, but the pull made him curious. He didn’t often feel them, it took a significant amount of metal for him to feel a pull that strong. With his Jiki Jiki no mi he could detect even trace amounts of iron, cobalt, and nickel but usually allowed the feeling to wash over him unnoticed. But this wasn’t a trace amount, this was something significant. And whatever it was, he wanted it. Even though he had complete mastery over his fruit, it relied on having metal to manipulate. In this part of the Grand Line, high-quality iron was difficult to find and Kid was working on accumulating as much as he could to prepare for upcoming battles. Whatever the metal was, he wanted it on his ship.

“A cannon?” Killer asked, seemingly apropos of nothing. After spending so many years together, Killer could read Kid’s microexpressions with ease and vice versa. On the battlefield it worked like telekenesis, helping the pair devastate whoever was in their path. During peacetime it helped them bed whoever they set their sights on with smooth talk and cheeky flirting, capturing and breaking hearts with ease all up and down the Grand Line.

“No, not a cannon, hafta find out,” Kid stated, throwing open the door to the bar. The air was heavy with dust and the smell of stale alcohol hit his nose as he scanned through the room. Nothing was amiss from a dive bar - there was booze, darts, a pool table, and various people drinking and talking loudly. There wasn’t anything significant made of metal at the business, only barstools, tables, and cups composed mostly of wood with only metal nails tugging at his consciousness. Locating the large amount of iron again, Kid found the metal deposit had moved locations and was now heading out the door as if on foot. Further intrigued, Kid attracted whatever the metal was gently, not wanting to damage it in case it was something precious.

Your POV

There was only one person you didn’t want to meet on the Grand Line. None of the high-bounty pirates bothered you in the slightest  - except for one. If you died, well, it came with the territory of being a mercenary. You lived your life without fear, taking on jobs you wanted and turning down those you didn’t. It had landed you wherever you were at the moment on the Grand Line, looking for another job to take.

You were a fairly well-known mercenary on the Grand Line, notorious for using your Logia Devil Fruit in creative ways. As the owner of the Iron-Iron fruit, you had the ability to turn yourself completely into iron but also to make and manipulate iron as well. You could duplicate keys and pick locks in seconds, you could turn into molten iron and, of course, you could mold your arms into giant hammers and smash anyone in your way. You could protect yourself and others with shields, create shrapnel and expel it at rapid speeds, and even make your own silverware. You had worked hard to master your fruit and felt confident in your ability to fight for hire. Being so versatile meant you were able to demand a high salary if someone was seeking you out specifically. You were happy with your life as you’d made it, adventures of your choosing awaiting you at every turn.

Now, the one person you didn’t want to meet was across the bar, flexing his gigantic metal hand as he stood in the doorway, looking around. Quickly chugging the rest of your beer you slammed the glass down on the bar and hightailed it out the back door. You knew very well who he was - Eustass “Captain” Kid - and you had no desire to ever meet him face to face. Nearly sprinting out the door, you made your escape into the alleyway that led back to the town.

Or you tried to. 

You were being attracted to Kid by his Devil Fruit power, being pulled against your will towards the Captain. You had feared something like this would happen - even without using your fruit power some amount of your essense was tied to the Iron Iron fruit, giving Kid the ability to magnetize you. Scrambling for purchase, you tried holding on to the doorframe of the back door but the pull was too strong. Your whole body felt like it was being pulled towards Kid and you had to let go of the doorframe or your fingernails would be ripped off. You decided to try for the dignified route and go to him instead of being pulled. Turning on your heel, you marched up to the Captain of the Kid Pirates faster than the pull was dragging you. It almost felt like you were flying as you moved with the magnetism instead of fighting it.

“Oi. What do you want?” you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Kid was taller than you’d expected, towering over you with a frown. He was massive, his wanted posters not doing justice to how solid he was. You resisted the urge to punch him with an iron fist for pulling you to him. For now. You could feel his magnetism still drawing you in as you continued to step closer to him. He didn’t step back.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, scowling down at you.

“You brought me here, shithead. You tell me,” you snapped back unamused. The Captain might have some kind of control over your body movements but he didn’t control your mouth. And yes, maybe it had gotten you in trouble before but with your Logia power, you never had a problem backing it up. By now you were practically stepping on his feet as he remained where he stood.

“The fuck you talkin’ about Squirt? You some kinda robot? And the fuck you doing?” he asked, looking you up and down while you were compelled to get even closer to him. You had to tilt your face up to avoid smushing it into his bare, muscled chest.

“You some kinda idiot?” you retorted, trying to ignore the weird position the magnetism had you in. God, if Kid was always this dense you weren’t sure how he’d gotten so far in life. Though if that wasn’t a pistol in his pocket, you could form a guess. You were completely flush against him, your chest to his front. His large body was radiating heat and you had a fleeting urge to hug him. As a Logia user, you didn’t really get cold but you didn’t often get to feel warm either. You avoided most touch outside of violence and sex, this may have been the closest you’d been to a man in a while. Kid smelled better than you expected as well, like well-worn leather and oil rather than body odor and stale piss like you’d imagined he would.

“She’s that mercenary,” the Massacre Soldier interjected, holding a beer in his hand. You idly wondered how he’d drink it with the mask on but he pulled a metal straw out of his pocket. It attracted and stuck to Kid’s metal arm as the pull was still going.

“Turn it off. I want to drink,” Killer requested calmly. The Captain grunted but finally turned off his magnetism and Killer grabbed his straw off his Captain’s arm before it fell to the ground. You were able to take a few steps back and glare at the man ruining your night and possibly your life. 

“You that Iron Logia user?” he asked with a wicked grin. 

“You already know the fuckin’ answer, dickwad. Why were you looking for me? And don’t call me Squirt, assface,” you said with a toss of your head.

“Got a mouth on you, huh? Don’t matter, join my crew - I can use your powers. You make metal and I could use it to make weapons and -” the Captain started explaining his reasoning as you tuned him out. He’d clearly already thought about some schemes and ideas for your future and you weren’t interested in finding out what they were.

“No,” you stated firmly, grabbing a large beer off a waitress’s tray as she passed by. 

“Why the fuck not? It’s better than anything else you’d be doing. What, you need to escort more asshole nobles to a summer island for vacation or some shit like that?” he balked as you chugged the dark ale in one go. Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, you dropped the mug to the floor and crushed it under your foot. 

“Cus I don’t want to,” you said, taking another step towards the Captain. This time it was by choice you felt like getting in his face and confronting him.

“You’re already a mercenary, what’s the fuckin’ difference between joining my crew and anyone else’s? We’re a strong crew, my bounty is 3 billion, you can’t do better than that,” Kid demanded, his red-painted mouth sputtering with anger as if the idea that you’d refuse never occurred to him. 

“The difference is I don’t want to,” you explained calmly as if you were talking to a child. It only enraged the Captain more as he turned as red as his hair. You had a feeling that if you stepped foot on the Victoria Punk, you’d never get off it. More than that, you didn’t want to be around someone who could control your body whenever they wanted to. You weren’t sure exactly what the limitations of your fruit were when not in use, but being around Kid meant your powers would just be an extension of his own - something he had already figured out. No, you wanted to keep your freedom and your life and that didn’t include being the metal monkey for one Eustass Kid and his gigantic ego.

But there was more to it than that. You’d heard about his personality and what he was like so you knew a working relationship wouldn’t be possible. He was crude, stubborn, brash, quick to anger, and so were you. You’d contracted with similar high maintenance Captains in the past and it had never worked out. You became a mercenary because you didn’t like taking orders or being beholden to anyone and someone like Kid couldn’t handle insubordination. His ego was larger than his already gigantic skull and you wouldn’t be able to resist butting heads every chance you got. Kid was the exact kind of Captain you refused to take contracts from, even without the Jiki Jiki no mi. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the Massacre Soldier watching the heated conversation while drinking his beer with the straw. The mask didn’t allow his expressions to show but you got an impression of amusement from the infamous first mate.

“Well, too bad for you Squirt. I don’t care about what you want and don’t want,” he said while mimicking your higher voice. “I need metal and you’re gonna make it. Now let’s get drunk,” the Captain stated, turning with a flourish to go to the bar, his cape billowing behind him. You made one more attempt to flee from Kid but before you made it two steps you were attached to his metal arm, held in place by a strong magnetic field. You felt like a decorative magnet as your limbs dangled helplessly off his arm while your torso was stuck to him. You took up nearly the whole metal contraption with your body but he paid you no mind. You tried wiggling and squirming but nothing was going to dislodge you from his arm until he turned off the field.

“Turn it off you fuckin’ cocksleeve! Put me down right the fuck NOW!” you demanded, making your fist into iron out of habit. As expected, it magnetized to his arm instantly with a loud clang before you could even pull back to punch him. Kid laughed in your face as you glowered at him.

“That was your plan? Turn into more metal for me to magnetize? Dumb fuckin’ idea, Squirt,” he said, reaching the bar. Kid jostled your entire body as he slammed his flesh fist onto the bar, cracking the wood in two.

“Oi! Barkeep! Get me a shot glass and some booze,” he bellowed across the room to the panicking barkeep. The Kid pirates were known for creating chaos at the slightest inconvenience, yet another grievance you had against them. Though you often felt like destroying things, it made coming back to any particular island more difficult. Following along with a crew or scoping out locations was considerably harder when the Kid pirates left an island as a decimated crater.

“Get me somethin’ too! Fucking cheap ass,” you grumbled, still attached to his arm. You were slightly impressed that he carried you like you weighed nothing, which gave you an idea. You turned your entire body to iron suddenly, causing him to dip on one side due to your immense increase in weight. If you caught him off guard, maybe he’d drop the field and you could get away. Unfortunately, Kid grunted but righted himself quickly, pulling his arm up to the bar once more. He was as strong as he looked, the muscles weren’t just for show, you thought to yourself. 

“Quit bein’ so fuckin’ annoying!” Kid complained, taking his first shot. You tried grabbing the bottle of booze but he held it out of your reach easily. You felt like a kid who was being held back by their head, swinging their arms and legs in a futile effort to hit their opponent.

“Me?! Being annoying!? You’re kidnapping me you titty-twisted ape!” you yelled back, turning yourself back to flesh to talk. If being completely metal wasn’t going to work you’d at least be able to give him a piece of your mind before he took you to his ship.

“I’m not kidnapping you, I’m hiring you permanently,” Kid said with a snicker. Reaching over the counter and grabbing a few more bottles, Kid turned away from the bar. Popping the cork off some rum, he drank directly from the bottle. He handed the unopened bottle to the Massacre Soldier, who did the same but stuck his straw in it instead.

“And your contract starts now,” he said with finality, leaving the dive with the Massacre Soldier following. Everything in you wanted to flail and scream but it wouldn’t do any good, you were made of iron and he controlled magnetic fields. You assumed he was heading back to his ship to drink more and pass out. You had a similar plan until Kid had ruined it. Still dangling, you considered the masked man walking alongside Kid. 

“Hi, you must be the Massacre Soldier. It’s nice to meet you. I’m a big fan of your work,” you said pleasantly, sticking out your hand. The man stuck out his own scarred arm and shook your hand with a firm grasp.

“Killer. Nice to meet you too,” Killer responded pleasantly. You smiled at him and hoped he did the same behind the mask. 

“What the fuck? You talk nice to him but not me?” Kid said, shaking you slightly.

“Fuck you, you’re kidnapping me. I have no problems with Killer, why would I be rude? I’m not a dick to random strangers,” you finished with a hiss. It was getting tiring being carried around like a purse. Intent on resuming your conversation, you looked at Killer again.

“If you’re ever interested in becoming a mercenary, let me know. I think we’d work well together,” you continued, nodding at the handsome man as the three of you reached the docks.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! You can’t recruit Killer while I’m recruiting -”

“Kidnapping -”

“Recruiting you!” Kid yelled into your face as he brought you up to his own. You narrowed your eyes. No one - no one - yelled at you like that and got away with it. Not anymore. You couldn’t hit him so you did the next best thing. 

You spat in his face.

Kid POV

The glob of spit trailed slowly down his cheek as he stared at you incredulously, a growl escaping his throat. You pointed your finger at him defiantly and spoke quietly, nearly a whisper, undeterred by his reddening face and growing anger. You were either stupid or brave - he didn’t particularly care right now. Kid wouldn’t tolerate disrespect of any kind, especially not in front of his crew. Kid knew Killer was watching, waiting to see what he’d do.

“Don’t ever speak to me like that,” you said, your eyes flashing with rage. Kid was so shocked that he had yet to respond to you. He’d talk to you however he liked, he was the Captain of the crew and you worked for him now. Coming up with a quick plan, Kid smiled his most menacing grin at you. It didn’t seem to have the intended effect as you weren’t cowed in the slightest. He didn’t want to hurt you, he still needed you to make metal for him. Besides, you’d be on his crew now and he never hurt his own crew members intentionally.

“I’ll say whatever I want, Squirt. But I don’t think you can,” he sneered, using his magnetism with a little finesse. As expected, your mouth slammed shut, leaving you unable to speak or even move your lips. He hadn’t thought through all the implications of you being made of iron when he first met you but now he could really see the value in having you aboard. He could control your every movement if he wished, down to your lush little mouth. You tried showing him your anger through your eyes but Kid just laughed. 

“Much better now, huh? Don’t have to listen to your bullshit yapping,” Kid said, sitting in the dinghy of the ship. Holding his arm over the side, he held his arm with you face down over the water as he repelled the boat towards his beloved Victoria Punk. 

“Don’t piss me off too much or the last sight you’ll see is my sweet face,” he sneered. You flipped him off with your free hand, pissing him off even more. Kid decided to have a little fun and dunked his arm up to the shoulder (and you) underwater, just for a few seconds. Kid relished the panic on your face the moment before you realized his intention and the inevitability of being dipped in the water. His metal arm got wet but it was worth it to see you sputtering in indignation with your now sopping hair sticking to your face. 

“Might want to let her open her mouth for a moment to breathe,” Killer suggested, tying the dinghy to the Punk as you breathed as rapidly as you could through your nose.

“Nah, you’re fine, ain’t you?” Kid asked, shaking off his arm. You, of course, didn’t answer. Kid laughed, enjoying the fury on your expressive face as you shook your limbs in an attempt to get off as much seawater as you could. You took in the ship adorned with a fish skeleton in front of you, your eyes skittering across the multitude of metal adorning the ship.

“Welcome to the Victoria Punk, Squirt.”

[mllemaenad]

Taash has a nemesis now. Okay, sure, why not.

Here's the thing, though. I have leave now, for the Christmas holidays, and I caved in and bought Tevinter Nights to celebrate. So I have just read Three Trees to Midnight, and am now making distressed noises about the Qunari again.

For a start, I'm still not completely clear on why and how "the Antaam" have rebelled. I mean: I know why. I'm not claiming to not have read the Codex entries. But a bunch of it doesn't quite sit right with me. We know that the Dragon's Breath operation was led by a member of the Ben-Hassrath (Viddasala), and Rissan is apparently involved in the subsequent invasions – so it sounds like the Ariqun is up to their neck in this.

The Dragon's Breath operation was apparently also broadly popular in Par Vollen: you've got a whole population terrified of magic, and now there are holes in the sky and spirits and demons everywhere. So, sure, the general feeling among the Qunari was "that bullshit needs to stop right this instant".

I get that. There was discontent against the more open-minded Arishok, but the discontent is society-wide. I think it would have to be, in order to prompt a widespread rebellion.

We also know that not all of the Antaam did rebel. Most of them did, but some of them stuck with the old Arishok, and they've just now all rebranded as members of the Ben-Hassrath.

It feels like the rebellion should be more cross-sectional: Antaam heavy, because they're proposing a military operation, sure, but with some subset of the Ben-Hassrath, Tamassrans, and the craftsmen working under the Arigena also on board.

But then ... despite the fact that all of this sounds like a mass religious schism, which should result in two versions of the Qun operating simultaneously (and might make a fascinating parallel to the Orlesian and Tevene Chantries) they then turn around and go "Nah, the Antaam are just rioting across Thedas. Because they're bad people. The Qunari put all the bad people in the bad people army and now they're being bad on the grand scale".

There isn't a leader: no replacement Arishok to put up when they tore down the old one. There isn't a plan for Dragon's Breath v2. It's not even that those things existed but it all fell apart somehow. They're just bad people who do bad things. And despite the fact that achieving mastery is a core tenet of the Qun (and one that I suspect would be hard to throw off, even if one left), all of these people just being outrageously bad at their jobs all the time does not seem to bother them.

All of which is to say that I quite enjoyed Three Trees to Midnight. The escaped prisoners who are chained together and must learn to work as one thing is hardly a brand new concept – but I at least found myself looking at a version of the Qunari rebellion that I understood.

The story's villain, the Bas-taar, believes that he is following the Qun, and that he is in fact bringing the people of Tevinter to the Qun by conquering them. There's a subtext to his story that he feels like the rest of the Qun will turn up to help eventually, once they accept that the Antaam were right. He is also, as Strife frequently puns, kind of a bastard – he has difficulty thinking about bits of the Qun that don't directly apply to his role and falls back on brute force when out of his element.

And where, where, in Veilguard are these guys:

"I am Saarbrak, of the Ben-Hassrath," he said, and the other Qunari scrambled away, turning their backs on Myrion and Strife and the bear as though he were suddenly the greatest threat. "I heard rumours," he said, walking forward and looking to the Qunari in the clearing, "that the Antaam who took Ventus did not act in accordance with the Qun." He sounded disappointed. "Some of the bas now call us monsters." He gestured up at Myrion and the others on the hilltop. "And they are not wrong. This is what threatens the Qun." – Tevinter Nights: Three Trees to Midnight

I cannot tell you how much I want some tired Ben-Hassrath agents (possibly even the old Arishok's men) to turn up and sigh, and point out that they don't know what those idiots think they're doing but it ain't the Qun.

Were they going somewhere with all this at some point? Why aren't they anymore?

[system-of-a-feather]

Man I really like this post cause honestly, same. I don't think we were "as large or complex" (" " cause I don't really see benefit in comparing and those terms are subjective, but stating this largely because I don't think we had as much of an issue with this as it sounds like you did) but honestly after we got past like 14 parts and a certain level of recovery / discovery of subsystems and sidesystems, it really really stopped being both worth it to really even bother counting. All we can really say is that at its most it was "at least 30" and that isn't me saying +/- 5 or even 10 or even like 20, but just that trying to differentiate the Mes from the Not Mes from the Kind of Mes from the Absolutely Not Me At All is so ridiculously convoluted and likely to bring up conflict that anything more than the "somewhere between 30 and a shit ton" is too much work.

Even now, our system is a system of Zero, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, or Ever Changing of "somewhere between 30 and a shit ton"; or as we'd like to say if anyone were to ask "a system of one or many depending on how you look at it" with how our plurality works now. I'm extremely happy with that answer.

On top of all that you already said, a thing that I thought about while reading this was how a lot of people - or at least I did - think fusion tends to happen after you know EVERYTHING about EVERY part and know EVERYTHING about yourself and can cohesively and perfectly blend EVERY part of EVERYTHING you know about yourself, but like... I didn't know how many parts I had when I was functionally multiple, when I was fully fused, and now, I still can't really tell you other than that we often identify as a system of one (and sometimes zero if we are being honest and coy - for a lack of better words - about it; I could go on a long tangent about that, which if anyones interested, I can, but on my own post XD)

Honestly, even after fusion I was / am still finding parts and learning about them and exploring them. That isn't to say they are split or not fused into me, because they absolutely are - but that I was simply not aware or connected with those parts as they preferred to remain quiet and unacknowledged most of the time we were individual and its only now, when I can fully leverage the rest of the system, do I find myself safe and comfortable and stable enough to actually hold space to express and be those parts.

Tangential point to your post that I was thinking of and wanted to add was just that like... in regards to splitting, fusion, headcounts and fusion and all that; learning about yourself is an ongoing process that doesn't begin or stop with being plural or fusing. The way and nature of how you learn about yourself may change depending on if you are plural, singular, or fused and what not, but learning about yourself is a universal experience and its absolutely normal and absolutely human to not know everything about yourself. Even the most stable most introspective and oldest person in the world has things to learn about themselves and I just kinda wanted to throw that out there to the world.

Anyways, per usual, great post ^^

How Many Was I, Anyway?

Some reflections on the system I used to be.

To this day, I don't know how many selves I was. I don't know how many parts, how many "not-me"s, existed in my system. I never will.

We never got an exact count.

And... that's for the best.

My system was very, very polyfragmented and complex. A lot of therapists, including dissociative specialists, dropped me because of it. A member of the ISSTD even retired after working with me for a few weeks. My system was always in conflict with itself and my parts were always fighting, a lot of us resented each other.

It was really overwhelming.

Trying to get any kind of sense of how many parts of me there were was an impossible task. And one that proved to be, well... counterproductive at best.

Fixating on the numbers made my system more and more distressed. It felt like we would never recover, there were too many parts, too many fragments and little pieces to pick up.

So we stopped counting.

We worked with every part as they came, worked really hard at improving our communication and self-calming skills, wrote down tons of notes about how to notice what we're feeling and what triggers symptoms and switches, read a lot of clinical books on dissociative disorders to better understand what we were dealing with and learn new skills, shared info with a lot of others with CDDs, and did a lot of mood tracking and journaling and setting reminders to help spot patterns and work around the amnesia better.

And, slowly... the dissociative barriers came down, and one by one, every part of us fused, until their fusions and all the effort and love that went into each one created me, the fused whole.

I may not know how many I was in the past, but I can comfortably say how many I am now; I am a system of two, myself and Fennel.

I've noticed in our community we tend to focus a lot on the numbers. A lot of plural servers on discord even ask anyone who joins to disclose alter/headmate counts. A lot of folks post their numbers publicly in their bios. Everybody, systems and singlets alike, all seem to want to know - How big is your system? How many of you are there?

It always made me feel very vulnerable to think about - everyone else always seemed so sure of their numbers, or at least had an estimate if not an exact count. I had a lot of internalized shame for a long time over how many parts I had and felt really overwhelmed every time I found more or split more. It also felt like something that should be more private, something I didn't really want to share with strangers.

And, well, that's perfectly alright. I may not be in that same headspace now (pun intended), but I think there should be more acceptance towards not sharing or knowing the exact number of members in a system.

However many you are, I hope you can have a good day today.

[babygray]

"67 Reasons You Won't Like Japan". According to some listicle I found:

1. Earthquakes and Tsunami 2. Too Many Nerds

.... I hope those cosplayers in the photograph are having a lovely day.

[camels-pen]

usopp and sanji late night impromptu date swimming in the aquarium. reblog if you agree

[stardustinyoureyes]

The Umbrella Academy Season 4 moodboard!!!!

[darkleloog]

NO.

OK THAT'S ALL, WHAT THE HELL, I DON'T INSULT ANYONE NOR DO I INTEND TO DO IT, IT'S RP, SEND THAT BUNCH OF TEXT IN A COPY PASTE OF THE FIRST RESULT THAT APPEARED I THOUGHT "hehe, Alex will very upset with Darkle, Darkle wants to win that position as Alex's enemy." AND I TOOK A RANDOM PIECE OF ALL THE LOTS OF TEXT THAT WAS PUT THERE. I don't understand it, I didn't want to offend anyone.

THEN IT'S MISUNDERSTOOD AND THEY SAY: "oh, this guy is an INCREDIBLE idiot" And I try to tell them calmly: "ahem, no. This is just rp, I would never do that."

(This is a completely idiotic topic and taken in an immature way by me) Oh, and you'll think: "nah, nah, nah, he's just trying to defend himself from what this monster really is."

NO.

STOP. WTH, NO.

Darkle: GCBC DID YOU BLOCK ME?? Thank you, I love you too.

UUUHHHHG, THIS TEXT LOOKS SO WEIRD WITH ALL CAPS-

Well, whatever. THE CREATION OF THIS ACCOUNT WAS TO CREATE HATE TOWARDS DARKLE, HE IS THE ANTAGONIST

While I was writing all this I was thinking: "this text looks so bad, it's going to look like I'm EXCUSING myself" NO, NO, NO.

What a shame all this is

OH YEAH, I BLOCKED GCBC FOR A LITTLE WHILE IN THE FORM OF: "no, now, stop, I don't want to get in trouble, I don't want to have to do THIS TEXT." And it only got worse, bad choice. MY FAULT, my fault, ik, it's my fault, I'm sorry.

At the end of that pile of text I put " /j " because I didn't want that to be misunderstood, and you will say: "why didn't you put in small print that it is not serious to insult? IT LOOKED BAD, FROM MY POINT OF VIEW IT LOST GRACE, RATHER, GRACE FROM DARKLE'S POINT OF VIEW, I really wanted to make it look like Darkle was the one who wrote it, NOT ME.

Ok, this is already a lot to read, GCBC, sorry to tell you so late, but, do you remember that time I made an Alex bot and you told me:

" AI is theft, and also a HORRIBLE resource guzzler. If you care at all about the hard work that *real people* put into honing their crafts, or the environment, you'll stay well away from this nonsense. "

(Yes, I copied the text)

Again, SORRY!! AI is crap if you ask me, but I really wanted to do something different. I didn't dare tell you.

Finally the text ends here.

Postscript: This blog is the blog of an antagonist. I thought: "an antagonist is needed in an rp"

I've put humor here because I don't even like reading things written with so much "Capital letters? Seriousness?"

That's it, it doesn't matter. IT'S OVER, RIGHT?

[nostalgia-tblr]

.